Falcon in the Dive
by K.Firefly
Summary: As a child, Crawford saw his death. Every decision since that moment was one to try to divert the death he saw, but what it all boils down to is: Does fate exsist? And if so, can it be avoided?
1. Prologue

Falcon in the Dive  
  
To lose one's wealth is sad indeed. Too lose one's health is more. To lose one's soul is such a loss That no man can restore." -Robert H. Smith  
  
Prologue  
  
Febuary in Tokyo. The sky was gray, a steady drizzle of rain falling from it. It was just above zero Celcius, so the snow melted before it reached the ground. Grey trees reached plantively for the sky, their spindly limbs rattling in the cold wind that swept down through the buildings. The people lumbered through the wet streets, dressed in dreary clothing and jacket to protect them from the weather. All color had been washed from the world, and all that was left was an ugly gray that permated everything. That night, the streets would freeze and the homeless left outside would do the same, their rigid bodies to be found sometime the next day, carried off to wherever the homeless were buried. The cold seeped into everything, every bone, every brick, and people did their best to get out before it hurt to much.  
  
Brad Crawford leaned back in his chair, turning from his computer and gazing out the window onto the dreary world below. It was rare that he stopped work, but he could not concentrate today. Even after years of working under the hardest stress, dealing with the fightings of his team mates when they became to much, he could not bring his structred mind to the task of hand.  
  
Today was the day he was supposed to die.  
  
End Prologue  
  
Hey all! I've had a Crawford fic stirring in my head for a very long time now, but things suddenly clicked into place. I warn you all, this may be depressing. Maybe no...but you never know. ^^ Remember, Brad at 12 is NOT Crawford. That's part of the point of the story. I'm still working on GWL, don't fear! I just need something so I don't get stuck in a rut. Tell me what you think, anyway! 10-12-2002 


	2. Chapter I

Disclaimer: Guess who does NOT belong to me? If you said Crawford, you're correct! Surprise, everyone else (such as his family) belong to me, and as the story progresses and more normal characters enter, I'm going to end up owning less and less. ~sigh~  
  
Falcon in the Dive  
  
Chapter I  
  
I wasn't born to walk on water  
  
I wasn't born to sack and slaughter  
  
But on my soul I wasn't born  
  
to scoop to scorn and knuckle under  
  
-Falcon in the Dive from Scarlet Pimpernel  
  
  
  
When Brad Crawford was twelve, he received the first vision that would have an impact on the decisions he would make later. At the time he lived in a two story house in GeorgeTown, one of the best parts of Washington D.C. He was a pretty happy boy, all things considered. To his parents and teachers he was Bradley, but to everyone else he was just Brad. He had loving parents, even if his dad was away from home a lot. (He worked for the government.) He had many many toys, and like most American boys he had played with his G.I. Joes when he was younger and while he would never admit to it-still played with them at twelve. He was loud and had the energy like most boys his age. The only thing that made him different from most boys was his occasional visions and premonitions.  
  
Among other things, he liked to play baseball with his friends on the weekends, and even though he wasn't very good at swinging, he was always chosen because he was one of the best pitchers. Brad was also a pianist. He'd been playing since he was five. His parents had bought a  
  
beautiful polished mahogany Baldwin baby grand. Every day, or nearly so (It was definitely harder to make him practice during the summer) he sat down dutifully and practiced. He had an unnatural talent for it, and his fingers would lovingly slide up and down the keys. Sure, he  
  
wasn't a master at it yet, but his parents were sure that he would one day be one of the best.  
  
  
  
His best friend was a certain Nathan Hunter, but Brad just called him Nat. The two had met when they were babies. Their mothers had been in the same hospital, and as fate would have it, they were born on the same day. The two had grown up since then, as their parents quickly  
  
discovered they lived on the same block. Unlike Brad, Nathan had blond hair and sparkling green eyes. The two were the terror of the neighborhood and the school, always thinking up some new plan to cause trouble. At Halloween they were more ready to trick then treat, and as  
  
they got older their plans became even more elaborate. While they ran around and played, their parents would sit on the front porch, ice tea or lemonade in hand as they watched. Smiles would spread on the faces of their mothers as they talked about their children, both confident  
  
the two would grow up together. They counted themselves lucky that their children had found a friend in one another, because both mothers believed friends were an important part in a child's life.  
  
Besides playing baseball, Brad was an avid boxer. When he was ten, his and Nat's father had decided to start teaching them boxing. Brad was sometimes picked on because he wore glasses, and while he did fight back, his father decided to teach him how to do it properly. Nat had  
  
been taught as well, because where ever one of the boys went, the other was close behind.  
  
During the winter there would be huge snowball fights that all the kids participated in. No mater what, Nat and Brad made sure they were on the same side. They were a formidable pair, to be sure. When there wasn't a snowball fight going on, they were either out sledding our building masterpieces out of snow. The two were also quite fond of snow forts.  
  
Every sunday they went to church. Both families were Episcopalian and members of the National Cathedral. The boys always complained, of course. Church isn't fun, especially when you'd rather be outside running around. Of course, their parents didn't listen, and so every  
  
Sunday, without fail they were there.  
  
The constant harassment in both their lives was Nat's younger sister, Glory. She was a spoiled loud mouthed brat who always wanted to hang out with them. Brad and Nat were always telling her to go away. Glory would then promptly run off to her parents, bawling her eyes out.  
  
Usually the two were forced to let her accompany them. In the long run however, the way they avoided the problem was spending as much time away from Nat's home as possible.  
  
Life was shaping up well already. Both families had everything they could want, and if the fates decided to treat them like this for the rest of their lives, they wouldn't complain.  
  
Nothing is permanent, though.  
  
* * * *  
  
On June 15, 1982, Brad's visions took a turn towards the serious. Perviously, he'd largely just had had strong premonitions, or quick flashes of the near future. He never told his parents, but every time something happened that had had foreseen, he would tell Nat. Nat's eyes would widen in awe, and sometimes he would ask him questions to prompt him, to see if Brad has seen something involving him. The answer was usually no. It was an awesome gift to have though, especially when it helped him come up with a plan, or get out of trouble. It also helped him from getting a lot of injuries.  
  
On the night of the fifteenth, Brad had climbed into bed at eight thirty sharp. (His parents ran a strict house) Summer weather had begun to descend upon Washington DC, but while it was a bit sticky, it hadn't reached the point where his parents had to turn on the air condition. Brad's window were wide open, a slight breeze caressing his face as he watched his fireflies wink on and off. Earlier that evening he and Nat had run around the yard capturing what fireflies they could in glass jars. After they both had a lot, they'd run over to their fathers who were watching from the porch. His dad took the lid while Brad held his hand over the top of the jar and punched holes in it so that the little bugs could breathe. After doing that he made Brad promise to release them in the morning. Brad had nodded agreeably. Now, even though Brad's glasses were off, he could still watch them, and so he fell asleep, the record his parents had put on of Beethoven's  
  
Pathetique playing in the back ground.  
  
* * * *  
  
Brad recognized his best friends house immediately. Brad didn't seem to actually be there, just watching. There was something wrong, Brad picked this up immediately and wondered it was a premonition. The boy shifted his eyes to the second floor where Nat's room was. His Star Wars drapes (a movie the two absolutely adored. They were always running around, playing the parts of Han and Luke. Brad was always Han and Nat was Luke. They had decided on this due to the similar hair color of the characters they were playing.) were open and Brad could see into his friends room. It was as he was looking into his friends room that Brad noticed a orange glow within it. Before he could register it, flames erupted from within. Within moments the fire had  
  
spread to the window, the glass exploding outward.  
  
"Nat!" Brad yelled, wanting to bold forth but unable. He couldn't move! He felt as if he were running in pace through molasses. He couldn't get to his friend. Brad was filled with panic and despair as he watched the house burn. He saw Nat's mother stumbled out, her face dirty, hair singed. In her arms she was grasping Glory tightly. The toddler had a tight grip on her mothers nightgown and was sobbing loudly. Nat's mother was crying too. Tears were running down her face endlessly. Her face was wrenched in that like people did when they had been hurt. Brad couldn't understand what was happening. Where was Nat? Where was Nat's father? Why hadn't they come out?  
  
As the fire trucks finally pulled it up, it finally dawned on him.  
  
Oh no.  
  
Oh no.  
  
* * * *  
  
Brad woke up, tears streaming down his face. His pillow was already wet from the salty water that had fallen. The boy brought in a deep shuddering breath, the emotional experience of his dream still lingering heavily.  
  
"It's only a nightmare, it's only a nightmare. He isn't dead," Brad repeated to himself over and over, stout in the belief that repeating his mantra would make it go away. The boy reached out blindly for his stuffed brown bear that his dad had given him years and years ago. It was a toy he kept hidden so that he wouldn't be teased. Still, the worn bear was a friend he wasn't willing to let go of quite yet. He was a great comfort, and Brad brought him in close, curling into a little ball. The dream slowly became less vivid, but the hurt in his soul from thinking that his friend had died still echoed throughout him. Slowly, however, the adrenaline left his system and Brad began to drift towards sleep again. He was just at the edge of unconsciousness when the sharp sounds of sirens pierced the night. Brad's eyes shot open. In his dream, the fire trucks hadn't gotten there in time, but he'd heard their sirens. Brad shot out of bed, running to the window and looking in the direction of Nat's house. He couldn't see any flames or smell any smoke, and with a sigh of relief he began turning back toward his bed. But then the calm of the night was disturbed again as angry orange flames leapt into the sky above where Nat's house was.  
  
"NO!" Brad yelled, bolting down the stairs and out the door.  
  
* * * *  
  
The twelve year old felt tears streaming down his face as he raced down the street, his heart pumping loudly in his head. This couldn't be happening, it couldn't.  
  
Brad arrived just in time to see Nat's mother stumbled out of the house, the exact same expression on her face as he had seen in his dream. Brad ran up to her, amid the burning house.  
  
'Where's Nat?!" He screamed frantically, tugging on her nightgown so she would notice him. Distant eyes slowly turned to look at him.  
  
"Inside," She said quietly. "No, don't-!" She reached out to grab his shirt, but he slipped from her grasp and escaped into the house.  
  
* * * *  
  
Brad threw a hand over his mouth to block out the smoke. Tears sprung to his eyes as the smoke made them sting. The boy also realized suddenly how hot it was in here. Only moments inside and he was already extremely uncomfortable. It didn't matter, though. He needed to get  
  
Nat. He had to get his friend out of here. He would not allow this to end up like his dream!  
  
Determined, he rushed to where the stairs were, his breath now interrupted with hacking coughs. It was so hard to breath!  
  
"Nat!" Brad called desperately, golden brown eyes staring up the stairs. What had once been the second floor was now a burning inferno. Hesitantly, he began the climb up the stairs. The ceiling had begun to fall around him, and with an exclamation of surprise, a beam fell from  
  
above, hitting into his legs and knocking him back down the stairs. Searing pain ran through his body as the burning beam laid against his legs. Panicking, he jerked back, pulling himself away.  
  
But then the smoke and heat and pain became too much. Brad couldn't do it anymore, and so he curled into a little ball like he had in his room and began to chant the same mantra as before.  
  
"It's only a nightmare, it's only a nightmare. He isn't dead," Brad sobbed quietly to himself until he faded into unconsciousness.  
  
* * * *  
  
Brad awoke in a sterile white room. He noticed with alarm that all sorts of tubes were sticking into him and that he was hooked up to a machine of some sort. The child looked around in confusion. And as they say ignorance is bliss, Brad was free of pain for the few moments  
  
before his brain recollected everything that had happened. With horrible efficiency, his mind played back to him the fire. A hole formed in Brad's heart then, one that would never be filled again. His best friend, his comrade in arms, the person who had always been here and with whom he could always share his secrets and rely on was gone.  
  
Just like that. Gone.  
  
Brad knew what death was. He wasn't an ignorant child that thought it was impermanent, that things would get better. It didn't. Nat was gone forever.  
  
Forever.  
  
Tears began streaming down his face. It hurt too much. Where was he now without his best friend? They'd gone everywhere today, done everything. He wasn't supposed to have left. That wasn't supposed to happen.  
  
Brad suddenly paused, his vision coming back to him vividly. Brown eyes opened wide as he was struck with a realization that made his stomach turn.  
  
Maybe it WAS supposed to happen.  
  
His mind began turning things around, playing with the situation at hand. He had dreamt about the burning of Nat's house. He knew Nat was going to die, and he'd tried to stop it, but couldn't.  
  
Fate.  
  
"Oh, honey! You're okay!" The door was thrown open suddenly and Brad turned to see his mother rush in, his father close behind. She wanted to hug him, he saw, but was afraid of disturbing the tubes, or hurting him. "We were so worried!"  
  
"I'm sorry, son," his father said. Brad shifted his eyes to his father. The man's eyes were shadowed, and it didn't look like he'd had much sleep recently. His father knew what was running through Brad's mind. There had been no pansy footing, no lying. Brad's father knew Brad knew.  
  
"Nat's dead," Brad said.   
  
His dad nodded.  
  
  
  
Tears pooled into the child's eyes again, and his father sat down next to him, ignoring the tubes and bringing him into a hug. Brad crawled into his fathers arms, wishing they could protect him from all the bad things.  
  
"I miss him," Brad sobbed, his face pressed against his dads chest.  
  
"I know. I miss him too, and I miss his daddy."  
  
"Why did this happen?"  
  
"I don't know, Bradley. I don't know."  
  
* * * *  
  
The funeral was on June 20 at Fort Lincoln Cemetery. It was very proud looking graveyard, really. Picturesque even, with rolling green hills and conveniently placed trees. It was an early morning funeral, so the sun was still low in the sky, and the world was cast in a gray in-between time. The humidity hadn't settled in yet, and the sky was a pure blue that stretched on forever. Birds flitted from tree to tree, sometimes resting on the gravestones to sing a cheery tune. Brad  
  
watched them impassively. He was devoid of feeling. It was a protective movement, he knew. He felt dispatched, unable to bring himself to this. If he did, he felt like he'd never stop crying. So instead, he watched the birds fly freely and wondered at how the world didn't care.  
  
How insignificant they were.  
  
They began shoveling dirt onto the grave, and suddenly he couldn't take it anymore. He felt himself beginning to break...  
  
...and then he was struck by a vision. The present world tipped away and he was left standing in a house that he'd never seen before. He seemed to be in a kitchen, but all the devices looked weird. Something that resembled a microwave but looked much different sat on a counter, and a large fridge rested in the corner. There was a large cherry wood table near the windows with four chairs sitting around it. The lights were on, and the light coming through the windows were a cheerful rose color, and the twelve year old decided it was probably dinner time. As if on cue, a boy of about seven bounded up to the table, putting place mats on the table. A girl who was maybe a year younger followed up with napkins and silverware. The two children were laughing and playing around, making a loud commotion.  
  
"Not so loud, guys!" A mans voice called from behind, and Brad swiveled. Before him stood a tall man of about thirty. He was dressed in khaki's and had a blue polo shirt on. Around his front was a yellow apron with various spots of ingredients that had never come out. The man was using hot pads to grab something from the oven. After he had completed the task, he turned to look at the two kids behind Brad. For the first time, he got a good glimpse of the face, of the golden brown eyes and spidery black hair. He had a smile on his face as he made a mock stern face.  
  
Brad gasped. That man was him. Sure, he didn't have any glasses, but he was probably just wearing contact lenses. He glanced over at the calendar. February 5, 2003.  
  
Brad's future self started talking, "Your mother isn't coming home until late tonight, so I decided to help out and make dinner. The least YOU can do is set the table without giving me too much of a hassle."  
  
"Daddddyyy, I want to go out to eat!" the boy whined, a hopeful look on his face.  
  
"Too late! The food's already done."  
  
"Awwwwww."  
  
"Don't complain! Just get out the drinks for everyone," the older Brad ordered. The family was in the middle of dinner when a man appeared in the doorway. His appearance was scraggly, eyes blood shot and swollen with the look of someone who was on drugs. He was leaning against the  
  
door heavily, a gun in hand. Brad's future self stood up abruptly.  
  
"Campbell."  
  
"You lost my brother's case, Mr. Crawford. Now he's going to die," The man said in a raspy voice, a delusional look in his eyes. The child Brad watched as his older self shot a look to his children.  
  
"Get out of here," he said in a quiet voice.  
  
"If my brother is gonna die, so's one a your kids," The man pulled his gun up, swiveling it to focus on the boy. The older Brad immediately went into action, launching himself at the crazy man.  
  
A gun shot went off.  
  
The man stumbled back as Brad's older self knocked into him. The child watched in horror as the two began to fight.  
  
Another gunshot went off.  
  
Brad's future self went limp, and his attacker pulled himself out from beneath him. His chest was covered with blood, but it wasn't his own. He shot a look to the children who were huddled in the doorway on the opposite side of the room, eyes wide. He then turned around abruptly  
  
and bolted, running through the front door. The older Brad on the floor was still breathing, and his younger self walked up to him hesitantly. A pool of blood had begun to surround him, and his breathing was definitely labored. Pain filled his eyes, his teeth clenched. Slowly the eyes came into focus, staring right at him.  
  
"I remember," he heaved, coughing up blood. "Don't-" The man coughed again. His children were suddenly by his side.  
  
"Daddy!" His son was at his knees, his face pale, eyes wide with horror.  
  
"Know I love you and your sister...very much. Tell mommy I love her too," breathing was becoming harder and harder, his words becoming more faint. "I'm sorry," Brad sighed, his body relaxing.  
  
"No! Daddy!" The girl screamed, grabbing her father and shaking him back and forth. "Daddy!"  
  
Brad stepped back his own face pale. He was going to die.  
  
The kitchen faded then, and Brad was left standing next to his parents, still resting heavin on his crutches the hospital had given him. His leg was wrapped up and had begun to throb painfully. The grave had been finished being filled in, and Brad noticed he was crying. His  
  
mother had her arm around him tightly, letting him cry freely.  
  
Slowly, the child stopped as things in his brain started working the situation out. He had seen himself die. He didn't want to die, especially not like that.  
  
But he could see the future. He hadn't been able to prevent Nat's death, but maybe he could do something about his own. Maybe he could change his own fate.  
  
Brad's face tightened as he was filled with a new resolve. His young mind had justified Nat's death as a warning for him. His friend had died, but he would not. He would do anything to avert dying like he had just seen. That was why he'd had it after all, wasn't it? He never had had dreams of such severe consequence before. Why would they start now unless as a sign?  
  
Brad would change his fate.  
  
  
  
End Chapter I  
  
Soooo, how you guys liking it so far? I'm still not sure of the ending. Anyway, I'm going to try to bring us through Crawford's life, and through the metamorphisis of Brad to Crawford. I've been wanting to do a Crawford fic for a while now, so here it finally is. Do tell me what you think!  
  
Oh, and I want to thank Mami-san for posting my prologue up and now James for posting chapter I up. I'm on a mac and can't do these things, so thanks a lot. (I need my PC to be fixed. x.x)  
  
October 15, 2002 


	3. Chapter II

Disclaimers: I still own everyone except Bradley! Well, I don't own Estet or Rosenkreuz either now...but...you know...  
  
Chapter II  
  
A man can learn to steal some thunder/ A man can learn to work some wonder/ And when the gauntlet's down, it's time/ to rise and climb the sky -Falcon in the Dive from The Scarlet Pimpernel  
  
Brad's parents, when asked, would've said that Nathan's death had alone changed their son's personality. They would talk about how he had been an active boy once, very agreeable and charming, and if given more time, he'd surely become that way again.  
  
Denial is often the same thing as hope.  
  
It was a hot day in August, the humidity close to one hundred percent. It was the sort of weather where you felt you were living in a sponge, and breathing the wet air was hell. Most women hated to go outside on the basis that their hair would frizz up in seconds, and any hairstyle that they had worked on would be undone. Even without this excuse, most people agreed to stay inside on DC's August days. People outside were hurrying from place to place at the fastest the heat would allow them. Tour groups trudged along from museum to museum, only happy once they'd reached the cold recesses of the inside. Vendors set up along the street sold their water for as much as they think they could, and as long as they had an "Ice Cold" sign hanging up, they wouldn't have a problem. Obsessed joggers pounded along the dry hot sidewalks of the city, and the Mount Vernon trail was filled with its regulars.  
  
Brad Crawford sat on one of the benches that surrounded the tidal basin. He was near the Lincoln Memorial, near a sign that said "Watch out for Low Branches." During the spring the Cherry Blossom trees that he now sat under were the most beautiful things in DC. The tidal basin was always crowded with people who wanted to come visit the blossoms; to take pictures of the palest pink flowers. Sometimes a light breeze would catch the petals, blowing them off the trees and creating a tiny blizzard. Children were always trying to catch the wayward petals, their laughter carrying through the groves. The time of the blossoms was always short, and by August, the trees were only dry things, their leaves the pale green that indicated they needed more water. Brad reached for one such leave now, plucking it neatly and crumpling it in his hand. The boy sighed. He was so tired of his parents. They didn't understand him.  
  
For whatever reason, Brad hadn't told his parents about his future seeing abilities. When Nat was still around, the two had felt it was a monumental secret, something to keep between the two of them only. It had aided them in various ways, and they both felt it would lose something if others were to know about it. So, everytime Brad had gotten a little vision or premonition, he'd tell Nat immediately, and sometimes they would be able to make it to their advantage. Now it was only his secret, but telling it to his parents or to anyone, would be like breaking a promise he'd made with Nat. He couldn't do that.  
  
Since Nat's death, his visions had started to come more frequently. It was to the point of being distracting. That's why he was sitting here now. There were few people traversing along here at this time of the day. When he was around others, he would randomly get a vision of something that would happen to them. He had no control over these visions and they had begun to assault him more and more. He had never looked forward to school before, and this year would be even worse. The thought of having to be privy to the future of all his classmates was disconcerting. Brad had begun to hate his visions. Not only were they distracting, but he often got visions of his immediate future, too. By the time he got to the thing he'd just seen, he felt like he was living his life in replay, except he didn't get to experience it the first time.  
  
The sun had begun to set behind him, the trees casting dark shadows over him and the water. Brad sighed. His parents would start worrying if he didn't go home now. They had been on his back more since Nat's death, as if he couldn't go places by himself. They said they only worried for him. Brad wished they would leave him alone. Sighing again, the dark haired boy stood up. He brushed the crumbled leaf from his hand and shoved his hands in his pockets. School started in two weeks. Damnit.  
  
* * * *  
  
"Bradley! Where've you been?"  
  
"I went for a walk. I told you that."  
  
"That was four hours ago!"  
  
"It was a long walk."  
  
"Wash your hands for supper. Your father is going to have a talk to you after dinner."  
  
"You shouldn't be angry. I said I was going for a walk," Brad responded hotly. He was tired of his parents bothering him. If he wanted to spend time by himself, then they should allow that!  
  
Dinner was a very sullen event. It was eaten in silence, with his mother casting glances at him occasionally. Brad poked idly at the food, not interested in eating. He hadn't been interested in much lately. Everything he did reminded him of his best friend, so his solution was to not think. Even now, when he allowed his mind to wander, he found himself thinking about the last time Nat had been over. His mother had served the same meal-steak and peas. While his parents hadn't been watching, the two boys flicked the green spheres at one another. They did their best to hide their giggles, and his mom had asked more then once what was going on. The two answered with broad grins on their faces that nothing was up, and there was no reason for her to be suspicious. It had all ended when Brad has accidentally smacked his dad in the forehead with a pea.  
  
Brad felt a hitch in his throat.  
  
He wouldn't think about that. He wouldn't.  
  
* * * *  
  
"Son, it's time we had a talk about your behavior," Brad's father began. They were sitting in the living room, his dad in his favorite chair. He was leaning forward, rubbing his hands together. Brad watched passively, he had listened to the conversation in a vision at dinner. The boy sat back in his chair, nodding or shaking his head when his father said something that deserved an answer. When he was asked why he was behaving a certain way he answered with a shrug and a muttered "I dunno." He didn't want to talk to his parents about his mood. Finally, his father finished and he was free to go.  
  
Brad placed his glasses on the bedside table, in the same place they had been before. His eyesight immediately blurred, and he lay down in his bed. There were no fireflies next to his bed on this night. Their season was over, and they were gone until next year. His fan was on high, spinning the model airplanes he had hanging from the ceiling in lazy circles. His room was immaculate. After Nat's death, stricken with grief, Brad had decided to clean his room. It was an act born of desperation, something to keep his mind off the present. It was his way of dealing with his grief, and by the time he was done, two trash bags were filled and his room was completely devoid of dust. Now he hung his clothes up accordingly, or neatly put them in the drawer after his mom folded them. He disposed of his dirty clothes in the hamper, no longer leaving them on the floor. When he worked on models, a task now devoid of joy and something that simply occupied his concentration, he was sure to clean them up. Before his room had been a wasteland of unused models and their parts. He felt a certain joy at keeping his room neat.  
  
Gone, also, were any signs of Nat, except for a picture by his bedside which his blurry eyes were now focused on.  
  
School started in two weeks. He would be a seventh grader, just starting middle school. He didn't want to go to middle school.  
  
* * * *  
  
"Hey, Four Eyes!" The call stopped Brad in his tracks, his eyes narrowing. He turned to look at a large kid, a malicious grin on his face. He had obviously decided to start the hierarchy first thing. That was fine.  
  
"What did you say?"  
  
"You heard me," The boy sneered. Brad walked towards him. He knew more taunting was supposed to take place, and like the good little victim he was supposed to snivel and allow himself to be picked on. Instead, he neared the boy and delivered a strong right jab, hitting the boy square in the nose. His taunter's eyes widened, and his hand immediately went to his face, blood pouring from his nose. He didn't want to go through the customary motions.  
  
"You bastard!" He screamed, face going red and he launched himself at the boy. Brad sidestepped neatly, elbowing the boy in his back as he stumbled past.  
  
"My name is Brad Crawford," He said, pushing the glasses up on his nose, "It would be wise to remember that."  
  
* * * *  
  
Brad sat slouched in his seat, watching the teachers lecture. His eyes processed everything moments after he'd already seen him in his mind.  
  
"Mr. Crawford-"  
  
"Lexington."  
  
"I haven't asked-"  
  
"You were to going say 'Where were the first shots of the Revolutionary war fired?"  
  
"How-"  
  
"You're that predictable," Brad responded shortly. As time passed, his visions had gotten to the point where he was seeing everything double- that was about to happen, and as it happened. This constant knowledge of the future had made Brad somewhat bitter. He also discovered it was easy to snub everyone around him. He was always one step ahead of them. He also felt he was one step closer to insanity. Things seemed so cluttered.  
  
Brad shifted his gaze to the window. October sunlight filtered in, catching dust mites that danced briefly through the light. Brad concentrated on the mites. His vision tended to lesson, or at least become obvious when he narrowed down on something. He needed to get someone to help him. He couldn't deal with this.  
  
The bell rang, and Brad pushed his seat back, joining the throng of kids in the hallway who hurried on their way home. Fellow classmates pulled and pushed their way past him, laughter echoing through the hallways. Girls grouped together, walking slowly as they talked and giggled about boys and other mundane things. Lockers slammed loudly as kids grabbed their books, shoving them in their backpacks as they proceeded to hurry on to their buses. Brad watched them all, feeling apart but not worse for it. All these people were lower then him.  
  
He needed to get out of here.  
  
* * * *  
  
By Christmas, Brad was living completely in the future by at least a few seconds. He answered questions before teachers even realized they were going to ask them. He responded to his parents before they called for him. He was the best fighter at school because he always knew what his opponent was going to do, so not only was he ready to block or duck, but he already had a counter attack in mind. On December 16, it had gotten to the point that his parents knew something was very wrong, and they decided to take him to the hospital. So, on that cold December morning, the family piled into their Volvo and headed towards the military hospital, Walter Reed.  
  
As his parents drove, Brad looked out he window, seeing the scenery pass first in his mind, and then as they actually drove by them. "It's snowing," Brad noted, a slight note of surprise in his voice. It was rare for snow in December in DC.  
  
"No it's-" His father started, but abruptly cut off as small snowflakes swirled in the chilly wind, blown into this windshield. He and his wife shared a look, not saying anything. Brad lapsed again into silence, not noticing his parents unease.  
  
But then, suddenly for the first time in months, his mind focused. It was a dizzying experience as he felt himself thrown back into what he had thought to be the past, but was really the present. Brad's eyes focused on a man standing in the middle of the road.  
  
"Dad! Watch out!"  
  
Brad's father responded quickly, throwing his foot down on the peddle, sending the car into a fishtail. Brad held on tightly to the arm rest attached to the door, his teeth clenched tightly. Suddenly the car straightened out and stopped mere inches from the man, who leaned forward with a grin on his face. His father started cursing and blowing his horn, and Brad turned when he heard a knocking on his window. He turned to see the face of a middle aged man smiling kindly back at him. Brad's father immediately locked the doors, but they were unlocked just as quickly, and the door was pulled open.  
  
"Good morning, Mr. Bradley Crawford. We've been waiting for you."  
  
"You have?"  
  
"You're right on time," The man responded as way of answer. He held out his hand, "My name is Thomas Grueber, That's TOE-MAS. It's the German pronunciation," Thomas said, and Brad noted that he did speak with a slight accent. "I know what your problem is, and I know how to help you. There's a whole school filled with people like you. Would you like to come? We can help you keep your mind clear."  
  
Brad shot a look to his parents. His mother was looking furtively back at him, her face pale, her breathing heavy. next to her, his father was kicking the door while pulling on the seat belt that wouldn't budge. He was cursing loudly at the man on the hood, and at Thomas. He warned them to let him out, to leave his son alone. Brad looked back at Thomas, remembering what it had been seconds before. If this man could help keep his mind clear...  
  
"You can keep it away?"  
  
"Keeping it away would be a pity. We can help you focus it, though. Use it to your advantage."  
  
"Will I see my parents again?" Brad was suddenly anxious. This could be his break. To learn how to change his future, and to control his visions.  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Goddamnit! Leave my son alone!" Brad's father was throwing himself against the seat, his face red with fury.  
  
"Don't worry, Mr. Crawford. We have everything under control. We'll be giving your son topnotch education, all expense paid. We'll also help him with his problem," Thomas explained, leaning across Brad and unbuckling his seat belt. As the child began to climb out of the car, his mother started screaming in strangled cries.  
  
"Wait," Brad said, pulling away. He climbed back into the car and leaned forward into the front seat, grabbing his mom as best as he could from his position, kissing her on the cheek. Sobbing, she wrapped her arms around his head, pulling him into her chest. Brad stayed there for a moment, listening to the beating of his mothers heart. It was a familiar rhythm, one he had heard many many years ago, and the sound comforted him again. Finally, he pulled away.  
  
"Don't leave, Bradley!" His mother made out brokenly, rivers of tears rushing down her face. Brad felt tears well in his own eyes as he turned to hug his father.  
  
"Please reconsider, Bradley. There's so much left to do. Don't leave your mother and I...please...think of your future."  
  
"I am, Dad. That's why I'm doing this. When I have it all worked out, I'll come back," Brad said quietly, with the gravity of one who had lived in another world for many months, only to come back and realized just how much he had changed.  
  
"Are you ready?  
  
Brad nodded, pulling himself away from his parents and slowly stepping out of the car.  
  
"What about your clothes? Your stuff?" His mother's priorities came first, and twelve year old boys couldn't take care of themselves. Who would fold his clothes? Give him soup when he was sick?  
  
"It's already been taken care of, Mrs. Crawford," The German said, the charismatic smile on his face. He gave a slight bow and turned away, Brad going with him. The one who had stopped the car caught up to them with long strides, and soon the trio was out of site. Mr. Crawford found he could unlock the car and unfasten his seat belt, and after completing that, he jumped from the car, his face red with grief and anger. His wife sat sobbing in the car.  
  
"He never even looked back."  
  
* * * *  
  
"Why did you come with us?" The man who stopped the car looked over at Brad, "We could be perverts or something."  
  
"You stopped the future," Brad said.  
  
"Ne kid, even we can't do that," The man said with a chuckle.  
  
"That's John Firth. He's a telekinetic. I'm sorry about his attitude, he's a little crude."  
  
"You were being affected pretty badly, weren't you kid?"  
  
"His mind is a wreck. We're going to have to help him build up a wall before sending him to Rosenkreuz. They'd rip him apart. We have to give them a call as soon as we get to New York, too."  
  
"What's going on?"  
  
"You have the potential to be one of the strongest precognitive that Rosenkreuz has seen in a long time. We're going to be taking you up to headquarters in New York. After Jim and I help you here, we'll send you to RosenKreuz"  
  
"What's Rosenkreuz?"  
  
"It's a school for kids like you-with a Talent. It's headed by an organization called Estet."  
  
"You're life is going to change bit time from here on out," Jim interjected. Brad looked at him for a moment before turning back to Thomas.  
  
"Thomas, is there such a thing as fate?"  
  
"It depends."  
  
"On what?"  
  
"On you," Thomas replied amibiguosly.  
  
* * * *  
  
On the train ride up to New York, Brad learned that Jim and Thomas were recruiters. It was there job to find people who had potential and round them up. Depending on their level of Talent, they were either sent to Rosenkreuz, or were given a training course. Apparently, since Brad had such high potential, they were giving him the red carpet. Jim was younger then his partner by at least ten years, and his personality was a little more relaxed. Thomas said it was because he was immature, Jim said it was because he still had his priorities straight.  
  
The train ride would be good five hours, and Brad spent the majority of it staring out the window, watching the scenery pass. For the first time in months he wasn't plagued by his double vision. He felt liberated.  
  
Finally they arrived at Grand Central Station, and they stepped off, Brad's eyes wide as he took in the surroundings. The light snowfall which has been starting in DC was leaning on heavy here, and it gave the city a surreal feel. Thomas led him to the curb where a black limousine was waiting, which Brad took in with a bit of awe. All around him, Christmas was in the air, and the city seemed charged with the excitement that permeated the soul during the month leading up to Christmas. Colorful lights and wreaths were strung around, and the world didn't seem so dreary because of it. People hurried from place to place, wrapped up in their coats. The city here seemed alive, and Brad stood in wonder of it. DC had never been like this.  
  
Well, it had, but things had changed since then. Brad suddenly felt himself grow a little melancholy. This Christmas would be the first without Nat, and without his parents.  
  
"I have gifts for my parents!" Brad exclaimed suddenly. This priority becoming first.  
  
"They'll be delivered."  
  
"Can I go home?"  
  
"Not this year. Remember? You decided to come with us."  
  
"C'mon, kid. Let's get you settled in, and then we'll introduce you to the boss. What ya like to eat?" Jim interrupted his partner from any long speech he was about to go into.  
  
"I like pizza!"  
  
"Well, New York has some pretty good pizza."  
  
"Okay!" Brad agreed energetically. Jim smiled at him as they all piled into the limousine. The child grinned to himself, feeling as if he were living the high life. The black stretch was extremely comfortable, and Brad tested the squishiness of the seats by bouncing up and down on them. He was so giddy! He was finally free of the future. Finally he settled down, content to watch the traffic outside his window. The car slowly inched its way by, and Brad felt apart of it, not like someone watching a movie. Finally, the limousine pulled in front of a high class apartment. Thomas and Jim piled out, Brad following behind them. The three entered the building, the bellhops carrying their luggage close behind. Brad looked around the large lobby, taking it all in. There were two elevators located at the back and a big desk placed between them. The floor was a white marble, columns of the same placed strategically throughout the bottom floor. There was a cigarette machine on the right, tucked into a side room where telephones were also located. Jim pressed a button and the elevator dinged, the doors opening slowly moments later. The party climbed in together, and Brad waited with barely contained excitement when the elevator finally chimed again on the the thirty-seventh floor. With a slight smile on his face. At 3712, they stopped, Thomas pulling out a key and inserting it into the lock. He turned it with a slight click, pushing the door open.  
  
"Welcome to your new home."  
  
End Chapter II heya! First, some of you might be wondering about Braddy's about face in attitude, and wanting to leave his parents so quickly. I had a talk with mami about it, and she agreed that if she was plagued by visions as badly as he was, she'd go, albeit a bit reluncantly. Also, this is Estet and Rosenkreuz we're dealing with, and Thomas is a telepath. I wouldn't put it past them to use a little mind pushing, would you? Anyway, I promise to work on GWL next! -.-; I've got six pages done. I'm just stuck in a tiny rut, so it make take a little while. I appologize! -K. Firefly 


	4. Chapter III

Disclaimers: Blahhhh. They don't belong to me. ~sigh~ Well, actually, so far everyone except Brad belongs to me. Woot!  
  
  
  
Falcon in the Dive Chapter III And soon the moon will smolder And the winds will drive Yes, a man grows older, but his soul remains alive. All those tremulous stars still glitter And I will survive Let my heart grow colder and as bitter as a falcon in the dive -Falcon in the Dive from Scarlet Pimpernel  
  
"The first thing you need to do is create a barrier. Picture it in your mind. Construct it mentally, building it brick by brick. Having a barrier will help you, both by keeping the future at bay, accessible when you want it, and to keep inquisitive minds out. You'll run into a lot of those at Rosenkreuz." Brad listened to Thomas, trying to do the best he could with the instructions he was given. The two were sitting on the couch in Brad's flat. Room 3712 was his own, not to be shared, which has been his first impression. Of course, there were certain conditions. He was to keep the apartment neat and organized, he was to clean up after himself, and he was to study. If he did not do this, the flat would be taken away and he would be stuck in a much smaller room. Brad didn't understand why they were doing this, but he agreed readily enough.  
  
Thomas has also set up a schedule for him in the morning. Every day sharply at nine, Thomas came in and instructed him on how to build his shields. After a week of practice, Brad had gotten good enough at keeping rudimentary walls up that Thomas felt he was almost ready to run on his own, and wouldn't need the protective shields Thomas still kept up around him.  
  
Starting at ten, the German lessons started. Brad didn't understand why he had to do this. He didn't seem German was a very useful language, anyway. It was really gruff sounding, and when Thomas spoke it, the words always sounded angry. Perhaps, Brad mused, this is why Germans had started both World Wars. He hadn't asked anyone, and was very attentive, but today he seemed distant. Finally, in the middle of the lesson, Brad interrupted.  
  
"Tomorrow is Christmas Eve," Brad announced. Because of the nature of his two companions, the dark haired boy had tried to refrain from thinking of it. The proximity of the holiday was too close though, and Brad was excited. "You said you'd deliver the present to my parents."  
  
"That's right," Jim said from where he was dozing in the large chair he was in. His arms were crossed, eyes closed.  
  
Brad looked from one to the other, hoping they would add more to it. Neither did, and Thomas continued along with the lesson. The boy sighed...  
  
* * * *  
  
On Christmas Eve, Brad laid awake a long time in his large bed, eyes wide as he anticipated Christmas. Maybe Jim and Thomas have just pretended to be uncaring. They said they were delivering his parents gifts. What if they brought the gifts his parents were going to have given him? What if they went through the trouble of bringing his parents to him? Brad grinned wildly. He really missed his parents, and he would love nothing more then to see them tomorrow. He hadn't really had a chance to say goodbye, and if he could, he would take the next train home. However, always in the back of his mind was the vision he had had of his death. He recognized the importance of building shields and controlling his Talent, and most importantly, being able to affect the future because of what he'd seen. He felt he would finish learning soon, though. Then he could go home before being sent off to Rosenkreuz.  
  
As Brad stared at the ceiling, he decided he would write them in the morning. He could give it to Jim to send out. He was pretty sure the older man would do it for him. Brad wanted to call his parents, too, but he couldn't. The phone in his apartment was only for incoming calls. Eventually, Brad managed to fall asleep, drifting from his excited state to that hazy in-between and finally sinking into a dreamless sleep.  
  
When Brad awoke in the morning, his barely conscious mind registered the day, but not the place, and the child surged to his feet, ready to run to the tree and his parents and his presents. His waking mind registered where he was though, and the dark haired boy slowed, his heart sinking. There were no decorations in his room or apartment. Nothing to remind him of what day it was beyond they calendar on the wall. Moments later there was a knock, and Brad ran to the door, a sudden grin lighting his face. Maybe that was his parents! At least, Jim and Thomas bringing the gifts his parents wanted to give him. Brad threw the door open, his fantasy exploding until he had convinced himself that his parents were there.  
  
Jim and Thomas stood in the door, pushing their way past him into the room.  
  
"Nine o' clock. Time for your lessons," Thomas announced.  
  
"Wait-what about Christmas?"  
  
"I'm Jewish. I don't celebrate it," Thomas said simply, taking his customary place on the couch. Brad looked to Jim.  
  
"I don't really do the Christmas thing," Jim explained with a shrug.  
  
"Oh," Brad said, crestfallen. "But what about the gifts from my parents?"  
  
"We weren't able to get the packages yet. I'm really sorry about that, Brad. But, we delivered your package. We got a call just this morning. Your parents love it very much."  
  
Brad sat throughout the lesson, repeating the phrases and words mechanically that Thomas rattled off to him. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the two left. Thomas stood up, giving a slight nod before exiting the room. Jim lingered behind a while longer, waiting until his partner left before crouching down next to Brad. From his long overcoat, he pulled out a small, black lacquered box and deposited it into Brad's hands.  
  
"Estet doesn't approve of personal items, so keep this hidden," Jim explained as Brad took the box, "Merry Christmas, kid," Jim gave a small grin before standing and following his partner out of the door, closing it behind him. Brad stood for a moment, studying the familiar box. It was a gift his parents had given him years ago, something that he had kept his smallest treasures in. Feeling a wave of sadness wash over him, he opened the box. On the top of a small collection of stuff was a pressed four-leaf clover caught between wax paper. Brad remembered when he found this particular clover. He and Nat had been hunting for four leaf clovers in an empty lot near their houses. Both eventually had found one, and had bound them in wax paper, putting them inside a dictionary to be pressed. Beneath the pressing was his favorite GI Joe. The action figure was ragged, his paint having rubbed away in places. Brad pulled the toy out, holding onto him tightly. He felt like he'd been reunited with an old friend. Beneath the toy was a small collection of pictures. Brad stared at the stop one for a moment before reaching in and pulling them out. He shuffled through them slowly, memories enveloping him.  
  
* * * *  
  
Christmas afternoon found Brad lying on the couch, listless. The radio next to him blared out carols, only serving to deepen his feelings of despair. As the child stared blankly at the TV, an idea started wiggling to the surface of his consciousness. It started off as a mild fantasy, but slowly took root as something he could do.  
  
He would write a letter to his parents. He would tell them he was coming home. He had learned enough to keep the shields and block out the future, at least for the most part. He didn't need to go to this German school. He could go to a normal high school, back home. He would just make sure he never got married or had kids. That's all he had to do. Brad pulled himself to a sitting position. He didn't have to put up with this!  
  
* * * *  
  
"Jim?" Brad knocked on the apartment that belonged to the younger man. He seemed to be more approachable then Thomas, especially when it came to personal things. "Jim!" he called again, knocking harder when there was no response.  
  
"Comin'...." Brad heard the faint call from inside. There were some muffled noises and finally Jim pulled the door open, dressed only in a loose robe. "Whatcha want, kid?"  
  
"This," Brad said, thrusting the letter into Jim's hands. The man looked down at it. "It's a letter to my parents. Could you deliver it to them?"  
  
"Sure can," Jim said with a smile. "Is that it?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Okay, then. Merry Christmas," Jim said, shutting the door. Brad noticed he seemed to be in a hurry. Brad stood for a moment before heading back towards his room, spirit uplifted now that he had a goal.  
  
A full month later, not only had his parents written back, but he maintained correspondence. He had mentioned coming back, but his parents urged him on in his studies. Some people had come talked to them about Rosenkreuz and Estet, and they said it seemed like a good idea. They agreed that they would like a visit, though.  
  
On a snowy, blustery day in January, Brad stood before Thomas's apartment.  
  
"I had a vision," He announced once the door had been opened.  
  
"What was it?"  
  
"I saw you brushing your teeth. You use Crest."  
  
"Did anything happen?"  
  
"You slipped on water and banged your head against the counter. You should watch out for that."  
  
"Thank you, I will."  
  
"Can I go home soon?"  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry, Brad! Your parents are on vacation right now. When they get back, maybe we can try to work it out, okay?"  
  
"Alright."  
  
"Okay, good. Do you want to go out today?"  
  
"Yeah! Can I go sledding?"  
  
"Well, no."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"We have to go tell Mr. Morris about your vision. I'm sure he's going to be very impressed. However, I don't want you to be dirty. Go put your suit on."  
  
"Do I *have* to?"  
  
"As a future student of Rosenkreuz, you should always be presentable."  
  
"It's uncomfortable..." Brad protested weakly, knowing he had lost this argument.  
  
* * * *  
  
This was only the second time Brad had met Mr. Morris. The man was an imposing figure with a constantly stern expression. He sat behind a large corporate desk, hands clasped in front of him, as he looked Brad over, and steely gray eyes focused on him.  
  
"Mr. Crawford," Mr. Morris greeted, his voice deep and filled with authority. "I understand you had a vision and control your Talent now. Is he ready for Rosenkreuz?" The eyes shifted to Thomas who stood at attention behind Brad.  
  
"Yessir."  
  
"Good."  
  
"When do you turn thirteen, Mr. Crawford?"  
  
"May 27, sir."  
  
"We're going to put you in the advanced classes. Make sure you are prepared for that. He'll be leaving May 28," Morris looked to Thomas.  
  
"What about my parents? Can I see them?"  
  
"Not now, Brad," Thomas stepped closer to the boy, placing his hand on his shoulder, "Let's not concern Mr. Morris with that right now."  
  
"May 28"  
  
'Yessir," Thomas nodded, pulling Brad behind him and exited the large room. Once they had made it to the hallway, a very generic looking place that fit the sterile personality of the building, Brad pulled out of Thomas grip, eyes narrowed. He was not a naive or stupid boy, and the uncomfortable feeling that he had been lied to all along was growing in him.  
  
"I want to see my parents, Thomas," Brad said tensely. Thomas sighed, crouching next to him, his clothes rustling softly as he moved.  
  
"I'm sorry, Brad. You can't see them for a while yet. Things are going to be intense while we prepare you for Rosenkreuz. We only have a few months, and you need to study harder everyday and increase your German lessons."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Rosenkreuz is in Germany. A lot of your teachers will be German, and it's easier for everyone if you can communicate in that language."  
  
"I don't-"  
  
"You have the potential to be one of the best students. I won't be surprised if you also become one of the most respected. You may even get put into a position of authority. If that happens, then you will get your own room, " Thomas was smiling as he continued telling about all of the advantages Brad had, and how bright his future was.  
  
"Can I see my parents sometime during my stay at Rosenkreuz?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"And I'll learn how to change my future."  
  
Thomas nodded his head.  
  
* * * *  
  
That night Brad was struck by another vivid vision. It involved his parents, and as he saw them as clearly as the day he left them, thought slightly older. There were delicate lines around his mother's mouth and eyes, while his father had deeper creases. Both had seemed to age well. They were in an unfamiliar house, though whether it belonged to them or to someone else he was unsure. Brad watched with detatched interest as they left the house and climbed into their silver Mercedes. It was as they were turning onto the highway that they were blindsided by a Ford Truck, barreling through the red light and directly into the silver car.  
  
The two met with a tearing, painful sound.  
  
Brad knew without the vision finishing that his parents were dead.  
  
He had to go to Rosenkreuz. He had to change the future. Brad decided then, eyes wide as he stared at the ceiling, heart slowing down, his breathing becoming less ragged, that he would dedicate everything to stopping the bad things he had seen. He would twist the future. Use it to his advantage. If he was to see it, then he was going to change it.  
  
* * * *  
  
The following months passed in a dreary flow of gray days. Around him, Jim and Thomas did much to prepare him for Germany, and before he left he had a fair grasp on the language and was able to carry on basic conversation. Jim promised him he would pick up the rest as he went along.  
  
So it was on May 28, 1983 that Brad Crawford was bid a good trip and shoved onto the plane at 5:30 PM where he sat for the next fourty-five minutes. Despite the usual delay in take off, the Delta flight finally lifted off at 6:15.  
  
"Hello," Brad turned to the boy sitting next to him. He was small with large eyes that were so dark they looked black. His hair was a curly brown, and his face was held a large smile. "My name is Paul. What's yours?"  
  
"Brad."  
  
"Would you like some candy?" Paul offered, pulling a bag of M & M's out. He ripped them open and looked expectedly at Brad.  
  
"Sure. Thanks," he smiled, holding his hand out and watching the rainbowed candies fall into it.  
  
"Are you going to Rosenkreuz?"  
  
"Yeah. How did you know?"  
  
"I don't know. I just did," Paul said with a shrug and a smile. "I was living in a foster home and these people and said I should go to a school called Rosenkreuz in Germany. They said they'd help me," Paul shrugged again, "Anything is better then the foster homes."  
  
"How old are you?"  
  
"Eleven."  
  
Brad blinked. "You don't look like it. I thought you were eight..."  
  
"Yeah, s'what everyone says," Paul said with a laugh. "I'm really small for my age. Were you taken from a foster home, too?"  
  
"No, I have parents."  
  
"Why'd you leave them?"  
  
"I...saw something."  
  
"Oh! You're a precog...i..ni..tive. Right?"  
  
"Precognitive. That's what Thomas told me."  
  
"Thomas?"  
  
"One of the guys who taught me German before sending me away."  
  
"I thought you said you weren't in a foster home."  
  
"I wasn't. He took me from his parents to teach me important stuff and meet the head of Estet."  
  
"Estet?"  
  
"The people who own Rosenkreuz."  
  
"Oh...So, have you seen Return of the Jedi?!"  
  
"No," Brad said slowly, only just realizing that the film he had been anticipating more then anything had been released. He and Nat had promised to see it with one another.  
  
"It was *so* cool. You *have* to see it!" Paul suddenly became very animated, waving his arms around excitedly. "They got Han back, and there was Boba Fett...he's my favorite...and Leah killed Jabba the Hutt because she was captured by him, and Chewie was there...and then they were making another Death Star, and...." Paul continued, relaying the whole movie over in a very disjointed excited manner. Brad tuned out the rambling of the small child.  
  
Yesterday he had turned thirteen.  
  
Had anyone cared?  
  
* * * *  
  
The plane arrived at eleven AM of the following morning with a thud as the wheels hit the runway. Beside him, Paul awoke with a start, blinking blearily. "We there?"  
  
"Just arrived."  
  
Paul peered out the window. "It doesn't look much different from home."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
The two were anxious to get off, and soon as they were allowed they grabbed their possessions from the overhead compartment and waited impatiently to get off. Finally, the two piled off and looked expectedly around.  
  
"There!" Paul said, pointing to a man with sunglasses, holding a sign that said 'Rosenkreuz.' "Hey!" Paul shouted, running up to him with a grin on his face. "Let's go!"  
  
"Are you Paul Token and Brad Crawford?" The man intoned in a flat voice.  
  
"Yes," Brad said simply. The man nodded once before turning and leaving, expecting the two children to follow him.  
  
* * * *  
  
The car ride was spent in silence. Brad had fallen asleep almost immediately after climbing into the black Benz. The driver wouldn't talk at all, and thus Paul was forced into silence. The small child had started poking Crawford excitedly once Rosenkreuz came into view. It was a brilliant site, an old castle as the main compound with much more modern buildings linked to it. The Alps rose from behind the school, following the horizon for as far as Brad could see. As they approached the school, the American felt a since of foreboding settle as a lump in his stomach, making him slightly nauseous.  
  
The two were dropped off at the front, the car roaring away, leaving them to stand in front of the place. Large ostentatious doors bore down on the two children, and they shared a glance before Crawford climbed the stairs and knocked. Slowly, the doors pulled open revealing a man in a crisp suit and a stern face.  
  
"Welcome, Mr. Crawford, Mr. Token. You're right on time."  
  
"Thank you, sir," Brad said, a polite smile on his face. Despite the man's smiling face, Brad could feel that he was very dangerous.  
  
"I'm Herr Gettelfinger, headmaster of Rosenkreuz. This school is one of the best, and we're very good at training children such as yourselves into people who will one day grow strong enough to do whatever you want. You have a Talent. You are above the average man. We will teach you how to utilize what you have," The man continued his welcome speech, and Brad felt himself take a step back. There was something about this man that was unsettling, something that put him on edge. Still, he continued to act very attentive. Despite the fact that he didn't trust Herr Gettelfinger, he knew this school would help him, and he felt smug.  
  
* * * End Chapter III Well, sorry it's taken so long! My computer you know, causing some problems. but here's the story-finally. I want to give a big thanks to Mami for editing and helping out. Thanks for being there to bounce ideas off of! ^^ Umm, I'm not giving up on The Gods Would Laugh, for those of you wondering. I've had problems with it, though. I'm not satisfied with certain things, so I keep working on it. I promise to update it soon, though!  
  
12-11-02 


End file.
